


Chasing Faces

by orphan_account



Series: Drown the Sky (Eremin Mafia AU) [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: All of this reminded Armin of exactly why he avoided fieldwork: the inevitable chase and the fight. Both were enticingly thrilling, but so was eliciting information from their latest captive without ever needing to put gloves on. What was the point in going out and getting dirty?Looking behind him, Armin quickly scratched that thought: Eren definitely looked a whole lot better covered in blood and sweat. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Eren to look even more devastatingly handsome than he normally did, but the rugged charm he exuded was probably the one good thing that had come out of the day’s entire fiasco.--It’s a terrible idea to make out with your partner while you’re on the run from someone trying to kill you. Unfortunately, Armin has been no stranger to terrible ideas ever since he met Eren.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager
Series: Drown the Sky (Eremin Mafia AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935685
Comments: 22
Kudos: 114





	Chasing Faces

“Why didn’t you tell me your fucking sister was going to be chasing after us?” 

Panting, Armin swerved abruptly to the right, barely dodging a hail of bullets that would’ve left him splattered against the brick wall had he been a touch more out of shape. It was hard to tell precisely where the woman was taking aim from, the dim street lamps both hindering and helping their escape, but years of training kept his senses sharp, the tell-tale clicks of a gun no stranger to his ears. 

Armin wouldn’t risk firing back, though; he’d never been an amazing shot and wanted to avoid accidentally hitting Eren. He ripped off the tie that was choking his neck, figuring it was long overdue, and tossed it to the ground, briefly lamenting the loss of what had been a smooth silk number.

The plan had originally been to rendezvous with a field informant, a job normally reserved for a lower-ranking member, but the nature of the information made it so that Armin was the sole confidant trusted with the task. Eren, along with another bodyguard, had come along as extra layers of security.

Just hours later, they’d fallen straight into Mikasa’s trap—their informant was long dead, and the bodyguard had followed soon after. All of this reminded Armin of exactly why he avoided fieldwork: the inevitable chase and the fight. Both were enticingly thrilling, but so was eliciting information from their latest captive without ever needing to put gloves on. What was the point in going out and getting dirty? 

Looking behind him, Armin quickly scratched that thought: Eren definitely looked a whole lot better covered in blood and sweat. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Eren to look even more devastatingly handsome than he normally did, but the rugged charm he exuded was probably the one good thing that had come out of the day’s entire fiasco.

Eren, strands of hair falling out of its once neatly-tied bun and bowtie hanging on for dear life, sprinted so he was right at Armin’s heels. “I thought they’d give up after I gave Floch the run around!” Eren paused, spun around, and fired a few warning shots at their pursuer. “And, technically, she’s not my sister; she’s my bodyguard and advisor. I told you she was like a sister.”

Armin didn’t think they had the luxury of arguing the exact label of Eren and Mikasa’s relationship, especially considering how swiftly she had managed to corner them, but Eren and Armin had never exactly operated under conventions.

Another round of bullets lodged themselves against the abandoned warehouse building, plaster and dust clouding their vision; this prompted Eren to charge forward and tackle Armin, shoving them both into a nearby alleyway, down another turn, and behind a large industrial electrical box.

Chests heaving, both stayed silent for several moments, adrenaline pulsing through their veins as they took cover from the rage incarnate that was Mikasa Ackerman. 

Chuckling lightly, Eren rested his forearms on both sides of the wall beside Armin, locking him in against the thick concrete building. They were practically pressed together from chest to hip, scarcely over an inch of distance between their bodies. 

“Are you sure this is a good time?” Armin asked, eyes roving upward from Eren’s lightly chapped lips. “We’re a little busy right now.”

The desire simmering in Eren’s heavy-lidded gaze was less raging wildfire and more smoking coals, sparking tantalizing warmth across Armin’s cheeks. Eren licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue doing nothing to dissuade Armin, electricity creeping across his skin and seeping through his bloodstream into his pounding heart. 

Calloused fingers brushed against Armin’s chin as his face was roughly pulled upward, the angle of the tilt allowing him to fully appreciate the sultriness of Eren’s gaze. 

“Mikasa wouldn’t hurt us… too badly.” Eren’s voice was barely more than a growling murmur, more vibration than sound. “It’s as good of a time as any.”

Their noses brushed against each other, breaths mingling together, Armin essentially swallowing Eren’s words before they could linger in the air. “What’s a little danger while we’re still alive?”

Eyelids fluttering shut and heat coiling low in his chest, Armin closed the gap between them. 

\--

It had taken a lot for Eren to be accepted into the Scouts group, but Eren was nothing if not persuasive.

Levi, one of Erwin’s most trusted advisors, was absolutely livid when Armin first stepped out of the interrogation room with Eren, bound in handcuffs and a little scuffed up, but otherwise coherent and standing. 

Hange, the Scouts’ most respected and only slightly unhinged technician, was much more receptive of Eren’s apparent defection from the Jaeger group. 

By the end of the first week, mostly everyone at the Scouts main headquarters knew Eren as the “defected Jaeger heir always trailing behind Armin.” By the end of the second week, Eren’s title had shifted to simply “the one always trailing behind Armin.”

While that description made Eren appear like a forlorn puppy, the name was not entirely inaccurate; as Armin had been the one to allow Eren a second-chance, it had fallen upon him to keep an eye on Eren and ensure that any problems were dealt with swiftly.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d deal with me right away,” Eren had said, reclining in his chair in the middle of the meeting, to Levi’s ire and Hange’s amusement.

To Eren’s credit, though, he had been nothing but astoundingly helpful. The information he gave, while not entirely free, was invaluable; over the weeks, everyday, bit by bit, Eren revealed locations of Jaeger bases, rendezvous points, and more. Each Scouts operative against the Jaegers was wildly successful, with bases and supply chains being taken over left and right. 

He had yet to reveal the main headquarters of the Jaeger operation, though he was likely holding out for when he had fully earned the trust of the Scouts and could participate in their lengthy strategy discussions. It was smart, Armin had to admit, for Eren to not give away all his secrets at once; it was likely that the Scouts could dispose of Eren as soon as he was no longer an asset to them.

By the two week mark, Armin was about ready to pounce on Eren.

Eren had been an attractive annoyance at his side almost every minute of every day, leaving when Armin had to attend confidential meetings or went to sleep (during which Eren was closely guarded in his own little room on the lowest floor). 

Every time Armin had to look up at Eren’s watchful gaze and teasing grin, he had the inexplicable urge to run his fingers through Eren’s coarse hair and let his hands rest at the nape of Eren’s neck.

The duo was walking back from another successful interrogation, this time of a Reiss family captive, when Armin made his move. Duran and Traute had been tough to crack, but they had managed; Hange was still in there with the two, picking them for more technical information.

It was funny, really, how much time Eren and Armin spent together in interrogation rooms, like some sort of unholy testament to how they met.

As Eren began to round the corner toward the staircase, Armin reached forward and pulled him back by one of his suspender straps, accidentally misjudging how much strength he needed to put into his tug and sending the taller man tumbling backward. Eren’s back was firm and solid against Armin’s chest, his shoulders corded with muscle where Armin’s lips had brushed them. 

“Oh?” Eren turned his head around, raising a single eyebrow in surprise, and peered down at where Armin was currently staring up at him challengingly. “You’re a little feisty today.”

Tenderly, Armin reached upward and thumbed off a smear of blood on Eren's cheek. “You’re filthy.”

Eren snickered and brushed his knuckles against the back of Armin’s hand, which still rested on his face. “Just me? I can change that.”

Placing a hand on Eren’s shoulder for support, Armin went on the tip of his toes and whispered into Eren’s ear. “Why don’t you come back to my room so we can get you cleaned up?”

Armin pulled back far enough to see Eren’s expression, which had settled into a deeply familiar confidence, smooth and natural, slick and razor-sharp, ready to claim its prey at a moment’s notice. 

Eren was a predator, and Armin had invited him in. 

\--

The Scouts and Jaeger rivalry began to pick up pace when another—true, bonafide, didn’t let himself be taken—Jaeger hostage was brought in for Armin to interrogate. 

It had been a month since Eren had been “captured” by the Scouts, and, since then, Eren had earned the trust of nearly every high-ranking Scouts operative that mattered. Levi was still a bit aloof, but Erwin and Hange welcomed his presence wherever Armin was.

While the Scouts hadn’t initially wanted to bring back Jaeger hostages in case Eren had been planning to usurp them with the extra hands, Armin had managed to convince them to bring back at least one. Eren had specifically requested a certain hostage that he was absolutely certain could persuade more Jaeger group members to join their side.

Eren’s plan was near flawless, perhaps because he had confided about it to Armin as soon as they had finished basking in post-coital bliss. If Armin was the only one to share a bed with Eren, then he’d also be the only one he’d share his secrets with.

The snap of medical gloves brought Armin back to the present.

Sitting at one end of the interrogation room table, Armin watched Eren stalk slowly, leisurely, around the day’s captives. Daz was up first, a low-ranking Jaeger gruntman who had been taken because he had been at the wrong place, wrong time. They weren’t planning to hurt them as much as they would their usual hostages; Eren’s plan required that they be intact and functioning.

Eren halted in his pacing and stood in front of Daz, the line of his back perfectly relaxed. 

“I’m disappointed that you would let yourself be taken so easily,” Eren said, tone perfectly neutral. “The quality of the Jaeger men really has gone down since I left, huh?”

Blubbering, Daz cried, “Please, Master Eren, I—”

A harsh smack resounded throughout the room.

“Do you realize what you’ve done, Daz?” Eren dusted imaginary dirt off of his gloves while Daz heaved from the welt forming on his cheek. “Imagine if the Scouts didn’t know who I was, hm?” 

Blubbering, Daz attempted, in vain, to explain himself without giving away any more information. “But I...he...we—”

A muffled snort came from the chair beside Daz; in that coveted chair sat their true intended hostage—Floch Forster, mid to high-ranking Jaeger strategist—whose countenance, despite his gag, was eerily calm.

“I know you’re a little behind on things, so let me spell it clearly for you.” Eren reached into the tray, taking out the gleaming pliers and grabbing Daz’s squirming fingers. “If the Scouts didn’t know who I was—maybe I told them I was Samuel, or someone else—then you would’ve revealed to them my identity.” 

Daz’s anguished scream masked the squeaking of the pliers as they ripped the nail off his index finger. 

“You would’ve revealed to them who I was, without them needing to lift a finger!” Eren held up the bloodied nail and laughed, clearly finding the irony hilarious.

The timbre of Eren’s voice sent crackling fire down Armin’s spine; grateful that he had allowed Eren to do the bulk of the work, Armin reclined in his chair, lazily flipping through the informational files. 

“Pathetic,” Eren spat once Daz started whimpering. “Hey, Bookie, can you gag this one up? It looks like he’s done being useful.” 

Armin rolled his eyes at the use of his official nickname, but stood up, took Floch’s gag from his mouth, and fastened it around Daz, who looked simultaneously horrified at the reality of sharing saliva with his group mate and relieved at having escaped further torture.

“Hey, Floch,” Eren said, moving over so that he stood in front of the next hostage. Armin took a few steps back, preferring to again observe from a distance.

“Hey to you too,” Floch replied coolly. “Now I see why you wanted to switch assignments with me last time.”

“No hard feelings,” Eren said, wiping off the pliers until they regained their innocuous silver gleam. “I wanted to see who you were loyal to.”

“Loyal to you, of course, until you left.” Floch shook his head as much as he could while still strapped against the chair. “They gave me so much shit for that, you know? Blamed me for letting you fall into the hands of the enemy.” Floch shifted his sights on Armin, his amber eyes narrowing. “Guess you’ve got them around your finger instead.”

Armin would’ve been more tempted to go over there and take over the interrogation himself if he hadn’t already been used to dealing with snarky shitheads. 

Watching Eren closely, Armin took this time to idly tap metal instruments against Daz, who had taken to flinching each time the chilled blades made contact with his skin. If some of them drew blood, well—as long as it didn’t sully Armin’s sleeves. Red stained terribly on white, and buying new shirts was always a hassle.

“Loyal to me, huh?” Eren set the pliers back down on the tray with a clink. “You think you can prove it?” 

“I’ve always been loyal to you,” Floch said, a touch of desperation setting in. “They know that. Zeke’s been sending me out on every operation he can think of trying to get me killed.”

Eren hummed, picking up a thin scalpel and running his fingers over it. “Then do you think you can get more people to defect?”

“To get back at Zeke?” Floch cackled, face splitting into a feral grin, teeth bared, not unlike the Cheshire Cat’s. “Sure, I’ll see if I can give them the slip.” He wiggled his hands around in his bonds. “Could you do something about these first?”

“We’ll let Four-Eyes continue with you,” Armin announced, bored with inflicting shallow wounds on Daz (who, while an avid crier, was terribly dull when gagged), and moved toward the door. 

“Never can be too careful,” Eren said with a wink, tossing his gloves onto the table and following Armin, who stood waiting. “I’m sure you can understand.”

Floch nodded, and, aside from the slight tremble to his bottom lip, his fear of what would come next abruptly settled into an uncanny, emotionless facade. 

Hange, as untamed as they often appeared to be, was meticulous and cunning. They wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize Eren’s plan. 

Right as Eren and Armin were about to open the door, Floch called out, “I heard they were planning to send someone after you, so watch out.”

The door thudded shut, but not before a deranged, raspy laughter filtered through the crack.

Once the door was secured, Armin began his tirade. “Are you sure that we can completely trust him? Enough to be let back out and sent back?” 

“After we keep him here for a little bit? Definitely.” Shrugging, Eren took his hair down and tousled it casually. “Floch won’t be causing us any trouble if he decides to join their side. Nothing we said in there would be useful to tell, and, if all else fails, Zeke is merciless.”

Armin wrinkled his nose, not entirely satisfied with Eren’s answer, but decided not to press any further.

Sliding an arm around Armin’s shoulders, Eren leaned down and grazed his teeth against the shell of Armin’s ear, whispering, “Why don’t we go back to your room? I’m a little filthy again.”

\--

Eren had only just started lifting Armin’s leg up against his hip when they were interrupted by the distinct click of a shotgun being cocked. 

The couple broke apart, gasping, and Armin turned his head to fully take in the sight of their pursuer, now having caught them.

Mikasa was beautiful, lithe, and dangerous—the long, dark overcoat that hung over her slim frame accentuated the strength in her form, the sides fanned out like the tail feathers of a raven poised for the hunt.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to make Eren come join you, but…” Mikasa stood her ground, taking aim at Armin’s face. “Maybe it’s better I didn’t know.”

Perhaps Armin should’ve cared more about staring down the barrel of a shotgun five feet away, should’ve cared more about Mikasa implying he had seduced Eren to the Scouts, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do much more than huff out an empty chuckle. Breathing heavily and with hands still wound around Eren’s neck, he regarded Mikasa with a cool glare. 

“I take offense to that.” Eren freed himself from Armin’s hold and positioned himself in front of Armin, pistol at the ready but not aimed directly at Mikasa. “You really think I’d leave the Jaeger group because I couldn’t keep it in my pants?”

Mikasa’s face remained deadly serious. “Come back with me right now, and I won’t have to do anything to your little boytoy here.”

Eren snarled in frustration, moving the aim of his gun toward her feet. “Mika, really? You want to stay with Zeke?”

“I’m not loyal to Zeke,” she said, the smallest furrow between her brows. “I’m loyal to you. And Grisha.”

With feather light movements, Armin placed a hand on his own gun, which was resting securely on his hip. If Mikasa decided that her loyalties were ultimately with the Jaeger group or Grisha Jaeger, not Eren, then he needed to be prepared.

“Well, I’m not going back,” Eren said, firmly, angrily, but quietly, as if saying the words any louder would entice the world to snatch them away. “Zeke’s done shitty things to me, you know that, and Grisha turns a blind eye to everything. They don’t care about me there, Mika. They’d send me to die there if they had to.”

Mikasa remained silent, but in the dim light Armin could make out the way her hand clenched on the trigger, skin taut against bony knuckles.

Eren continued, the quiet fury draining from his voice. “It’s either you come with me now, or…”

Though Eren let his sentence trail off, hinting at the consequences of choosing to oppose him, Armin could see it in the brief twitch of his left hand and the rigidity of his posture that Eren was nervous—nervous for Mikasa to leave him, to turn her back on him, to start firing with reckless abandon and take Eren back to the world he’d narrowly managed to claw his way out of.

All Mikasa needed to do was put the gun down and meet him halfway.

Slowly, Mikasa lowered her arms. “You put your gun down too,” she commanded.

Eren did as he was told, tossing his weapon carelessly on the floor and extending his arms out. “All clear here.”

Mikasa holstered her gun and launched herself toward Eren, slapping him soundly as soon as she was within range. 

Startled, Armin began to draw out his gun, but relaxed when Mikasa threw her arms around Eren, pulling him into a tight hug. After a moment, Eren returned the embrace, patting soothing circles on Mikasa’s back and muttering apologies for being an idiot. 

Armin felt like he was intruding on something deeply personal, shuffling his feet awkwardly before stopping and chiding himself for doing something so childish. 

Lifting her head from Eren’s shoulder, Mikasa finally, fully, appraised Armin. Expression deliberately neutral, Mikasa said, “Of all the reasons to leave the group, at least you chose a pretty one.” 

A month ago, Armin would’ve been seething, would’ve probably never put himself in any situation that allowed him to be judged so openly, so vulnerably. 

As it were, though, Armin simply smiled and offered his hand to shake. “I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”


End file.
